


Auld Lang Syne

by lastincurableromantic



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Gen, Introspection, New Year's Eve, Pete's World (Doctor Who)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastincurableromantic/pseuds/lastincurableromantic
Summary: Still grieving the loss of the Doctor on Doomsday, Rose meets a stranger on New Year's Eve.
Relationships: Metacrisis Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler, Rose Tyler & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 114





	Auld Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been floating around in my mind for years, and I finally decided to write it down.

Rose slipped out of Vitex's large, formal ballroom, music from the small orchestra the Vice President of PR had hired for the party following her into the hall. Stopping only to retrieve her coat from the cloakroom, she carefully crossed the lobby on tiptoe, certain that her heels would create an echo if they struck the marble floor of the empty room.

Exiting through a nondescript side door, she emerged onto a secluded courtyard that overlooked the Thames, the door making a soft whooshing sound as it closed behind her. There was someone already there, a solitary figure sitting on a bench in the shadows near the courtyard's far wall. A man by the looks of it, given the fact that the person was in a suit rather than a dress, although that wasn't a certainty. She had seen several women wearing tuxes that evening. But odds were that it was a man, probably out here to have a smoke, although she quickly realized she couldn't smell tobacco. Maybe he was waiting for someone, she thought. Or perhaps he was just trying to evade the crush of people inside as much as she was.

Under normal circumstances being alone in the dark with a stranger near midnight might have given her pause, but the only way to get into the courtyard was through the door she'd used. Since the only people there that evening were attending the Vitex bash, he was obviously also a guest of the party.

Not to mention that Jack Harkness's instructions on self-defense, followed by months of Torchwood's field agent training, left her able to handle most situations. Even in a floor-length gown and 4-inch heels.

Before she left the entryway, she took a deep, cleansing breath. She held it for a count of ten, then slowly exhaled, as Torchwood's grief counselor had instructed her to do whenever she began to feel overwhelmed. She did it again, and then again, each time blowing the air out slower than the last.

After the tension, tightly coiled in the pit of her stomach all evening, began to ease, she crossed the courtyard, making her way to the guardrail that separated the area from the sloping bank of the river. Her heels clicked on the concrete as she walked, overloud in the quiet of the night. She leaned against the cold metal. On the far side of the river the buildings were silent and dark, the offices within closed, while behind her were the muffled sounds of the party she'd escaped. In the distance, the Shard stretched high into the sky, illuminated in red and green for the holidays.

She felt, as a prickle between her shoulder blades, the man rise from his place on the bench before she heard his footsteps echo as he crossed the pavement. Once he was beside her, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the heavy iron crossbeam that made up the top of the railing.

"Beautiful night," he said.

She glanced up, only then noticing the clear sky above. A full moon hung overhead, bright enough to cast oddly-shaped shadows on the ground. He'd taken her there once, she thought. But not really there. The moon in her home universe.

She felt the familiar sharp pang of loss and swallowed hard, trying to ignore it, to push it away, wondering if it would ever get easier to bear and perversely not wanting it to.

"Yeah," she said noncommittally.

They stood there, side by side, not speaking, watching the river flow below them.

Eventually she realized he'd stopped watching the river and was staring at her, frowning. 

"Don't I know you?" he asked.

She froze. God, the last thing she wanted this evening was to be recognized. She shook her head, pointedly not looking at him. "Don't think so."

"Are you sure? Because I'm certain I've seen you before." His face cleared. "Wait a minute. Aren't you Rose Tyler?"

She opened her mouth to deny it, because being Rose Tyler here meant something entirely different than it had at home. It meant fame and wealth, paparazzi and social obligations and a host of other things that she detested, that she'd trade in a heartbeat for thick dark hair and a pair of dark brown eyes, for a brown pinstriped suit and a pair of dirty Converses.

"Yeah," she said instead.

She turned toward him, taking a good look at him for the first time. She was certain she'd never seen him before, but there was something very familiar about him too, something she couldn't put her finger on. He was tall and thin with light brown hair long enough that his fringe flopped over to one side. Rather than looking fashionable, it gave the impression that it had been too long since his last haircut. And he looked young, very young she thought, although he was probably only a year or two younger than she was. But then with everything she'd been through lately, she felt like she was a thousand years old.

"Thought so." He flashed her a grin, one that wasn't skeevy, wasn't asking for some favor or other, wasn't pretending a false intimacy between them.

It was just… friendly.

He turned back to watch the river again. Rose looked at him curiously. It had been so long since she'd met someone who was nice to her just for the sake of being nice, without wanting something from her. People always wanted her to donate to some cause, to wear something they'd designed, to attend some event so her name would be linked, even distantly, with theirs. And she usually did whatever it was they wanted. It was like being an uninvited guest at someone's house. You wanted to do something for them to make up for the fact that you were an interloper. Since she was currently living in a universe not her own, she almost felt obligated to do things for the people whose universe it was.

Even her family wanted things from her. Deep down, they believed that since what they wanted was in her best interests, or at least what they believed to be her best interests, somehow it didn't really count. And to be fair, the things they wanted were fairly innocuous. Pete wanted her to fit in at Torchwood (something she wanted as well, if for no other reason than to show her gratitude for everything he'd done for them) while her mother said she just wanted Rose to be happy. Unfortunately, her mum's definition of what 'Rose being happy' meant felt like just another obligation to her.

That's why she was here tonight after all, not because she wanted to be there but out of a sense of obligation to them. She was attending a New Year's Eve party she didn't want to go to with a bunch of people she'd never met and would likely never see again in order to make her parents happy, in order to convince them she was moving on.

In other words, to lie to them.

Oh, she knew they just wanted the best for her, just wanted to help her adjust to her new life, but their attention, their hovering, was stifling.

And then there was Mickey…

At the thought of Mickey, who was at that moment probably searching for her in the ballroom—assuming he'd even noticed she'd left—she rubbed her forehead and sighed. It came out louder than she intended.

"Hey, are you all right?"

She looked up at him. Concern was written all over his face.

"Yeah," she said, realizing she sounded anything but. "No," she corrected. "I'm just… it's just this season. I used to love the holidays. Loved Christmas. _Loved_ New Year's. But this year…"

"Did you lose someone?" he asked quietly.

She laughed ruefully, a short bark of laughter that turned midway into a quiet sob. Tears welled up in her eyes. Despite her best efforts, they began to slowly roll down her cheeks. "Is it that obvious?"

He gave her a small smile, one that was slightly uncomfortable and yet full of sympathy. "Sort of."

"I'm sorry." She wiped at her face with her hands, certain she was smearing her makeup. "I'm so sorry. I seem to be doing this an awful lot lately."

"No, don't apologize. It's all right. Really."

"I must look a fright."

"Not at all," he tried to assure her.

"Liar."

"Well… maybe you do look a _little_ rough," he admitted, grimacing and yanking on an earlobe. Again she was struck by a sense of familiarity she couldn't explain. Perhaps she'd met a parallel him in her own universe, she thought.

He pulled a large white handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it to her. When she hesitated, he added, "Don't worry, it's clean."

As she accepted the cloth, she gave him a puzzled look. It seemed like an odd comment given the circumstances. Did he really think she'd assume it wasn't?

After she'd dabbed at her face, grateful she'd begun wearing waterproof mascara, she offered it back. He shook his head.

"Keep it."

"Thanks," she said, shoving it in the pocket of her coat.

"Wanna talk about it? I've been told on good authority that I'm a great listener."

She shook her head. "Nah, you don't want to hear about my problems."

"Sure I do," he answered.

"Why?"

"Maybe I'm avoiding going back in there." He jerked his head back towards the building and the party inside. "Or maybe I'm bored and like to listen to gossip," he suggested. "Or maybe I'm just a nice guy. That's what my mum says, at any rate."

She smiled, biting her lip nervously. "I guess I'll trust your mum's judgement."

"Good call." He gestured grandly to the bench he'd been sitting on earlier. "Most people do."

"Smart woman, is she?" she asked as she sat down.

"Yep. Absolutely brilliant."

She smiled.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing." She shrugged. " 'S just… your mum's right. You are a nice guy. Not many blokes would praise their mums like that. Wouldn't even occur to them."

A look of embarrassment crossed his face, just for an instant, disappearing so quickly that she could have imagined it. But she was sure she hadn't. She wondered why he was embarrassed. Loving your mum was nothing to be embarrassed about.

"So," he began, "you were about to tell me about the person you lost."

She shook her head. "Nope. You first."

"I don't understand."

"If I'm going to pour my heart out, I should at least know who I'm pouring it out to."

"Oh. Yeah. My name's, uh… Jack."

The brief hesitation was odd, and she wondered if he'd made it up on the spot. But why would he do that? What possible purpose would it serve? It's not like she'd recognize it.

But maybe he thought she'd recognize it, and know who he was. Maybe he was famous or something, maybe even more famous than Rose Tyler was.

If that's what it was, the joke was on him. She hadn't been here long enough to know who anyone was.

"Jack what?" she asked.

His eyes flickered almost imperceptibly towards the river and beyond, something she wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been looking for it.

"Tate."

"What, like the museum?"

"Yeah, like the museum. Exactly like the museum." His eyes widened, as if what he'd said surprised him. "But no relation," he added quickly. "Nope. Not related at all."

He grinned, a false grin that didn't hide his discomfort. He was lying, Rose was sure of it.

Then a truly awful possibility occurred to her. "You aren't paparazzi, are you? Or a reporter, trying to get a story on the Tylers?"

"What? No! God, no." He sounded so horrified that she believed him.

"Then why are you lying about your name?"

"I'm not! Well, mostly not. My name really is Jack. Well, John actually, but I go by Jack. Honestly."

"But not Tate."

He shook his head.

"Why'd you lie?"

" 'Cause I didn't think you'd believe me if I told you the truth."

"Which is?"

"It's… Smith."

She raised her eyebrows. "Your name is John Smith?" she asked, deadpan.

He nodded, a pained expression on his face.

"Really."

He nodded again. "My parents, well, my dad really, is absolute pants at names. Wanted to name me all kinds of stupid things, like Henricks or Debenhams. Honestly, can you imagine going through life as Debenhams Smith?" He shuddered. "It was Mum's idea to call me Jack, and according to her, Dad would only agree if it was John and Jack was only a nickname."

"I'm liking your mum more and more if she prevented you from being named Debenhams."

He laughed, and she joined in, for a moment her heart feeling lighter than it had for months, maybe since before she'd been trapped here.

"So now that you know my name, what's your story, Rose Tyler?" When she didn't answer immediately, he prompted, "You said that you lost someone?"

She nodded, drawing in a ragged breath. "Yeah."

"Tell me about him."

She looked at him sharply, instantly on guard again.

Jack threw up his hands, as if warding himself against attack. "Or her. Didn't mean to assume."

She deflated, all the fight leaving her in an instant. She rested her elbows on her knees. "No, you were right the first time. He… well, he's hard to describe. Tall, thin, thick brown hair and dark brown eyes. Always wears a pinstriped suit."

"No, that's just what he looks like. Tell me about him."

She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to fall into her memories. There were so many. They piled on top of one another, each attempting to crowd out the next as they tried to force their way into the forefront of her mind. A lifetime of memories shoved into two brief years.

And then the worst one: a ghostly image on a cold, deserted beach in Norway.

She opened her eyes again, trying to shove that painful image out of her mind.

"He's smart…" she began. "No, he's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant." She met Jack's eyes. "But at the same time, sometimes he's absolutely clueless. And rude. The things he says, the things he _does_ …." Images of him licking walls and sticking fingers in other people's jars of jam crossed her mind so vividly she could almost see them in front of her. She rolled her eyes, and a tiny bark of laughter escaped her lips despite her best effort to hold it back. "He's funny. Kind. Really, really great with kids. But more than that, he's just… good. He helps people in trouble, and he never, ever asks for anything in return. He's just a good person, and he brings out the best in others." She paused, momentarily overwhelmed. Tears prickled in the back of her eyes, threatened to emerge again. "He brought out the best in me. And I miss him so much."

For several long moments, neither of them said anything. In the distance were the soft sounds of traffic and the river. Even the noise from the party had died down, the orchestra evidently having taken a break.

"What happened?" Jack asked, breaking the heavy silence.

She wasn't sure how to answer. She couldn't tell him the truth: it was classified, for one thing, and even if it hadn't been, she would have sounded mad. Certifiable. Like she needed to be locked up rather than sitting here quietly in the courtyard of the Vitex building.

"He's gone," she said finally. "I… lost him."

"He's dead?"

She shook her head. "Missing. I don't know where he is, and I don't know how to find him." She glanced back at the building behind them. "My family thinks he's gone for good. They want me to give up on him, get on with my life." The vision of him in Norway, telling her it was impossible for her to see him again, again popped unbidden, unwanted, into her mind. "I dunno, maybe they're right; maybe I should give up."

"No!" Jack interjected forcefully, then added more quietly, "I mean, no, don't give up. Don't ever give up. My dad always says Mum taught him that nothing's impossible, that there's always hope."

Jack's words hung between them, echoing in her ears and penetrating deep into her mind. As they swirled around, spreading to every corner, every hidden nook and cranny, they uncovered something, something so deeply buried it had been forgotten. It now emerged, a tiny, golden ember lighting possibilities and warming her heart.

"My friend believed in hope too," she said slowly as a glimmer of an idea began to take shape. She grinned. "And you're right. You're absolutely right. I shouldn't give up. I've seen him do things that everyone else would have said were impossible." She chuckled. "Maybe I can do the impossible too."

He grinned back. "I'm sure you can."

All of a sudden, Rose realized she could hear music again, bringing her back to the reality of exactly where she was and why. She swore under her breath.

"You wouldn't happen to know what time it is?" she asked.

"Two minutes, seventeen seconds to midnight," he answered automatically.

She blinked, surprised. "My friend could do that, could tell time down to the millisecond if he wanted to."

He shrugged, looking embarrassed again. "It's a gift. My whole family can." Then he grinned. "'Cept my mum. She's useless at it. Dad's been trying to teach her. He says she's getting better at it, but she says he's daft. He is, by the way. Both of them are. Daft as they come." This was said with so much pride and love that she couldn't help smiling.

"They sound nice," she said.

"Yeah, they are," he replied, smiling at her. "How 'bout you? Are your parents as daft as mine?"

"Maybe more," she said with a laugh. "At least Mum is." Then she added quietly, "My dad died when I was little. Pete's Mum's second husband. They've only been married for a few months."

He nodded, almost as if he'd known that at one time but had forgotten. "Must have been hard, not having your dad around."

"It was. But Mum was great. Raised me all by herself on a council estate. We didn't have much money, but I always had a roof over my head, clothes on my back, and food on the table."

"Sounds like she did a great job with you," he said. If anyone else had said it, it would have sounded like a flirt, but coming from him, somehow it didn't. She was relieved; he was attractive, handsome even, but she couldn't have been less interested in him. Talking to him, he felt more like a brother than a potential boyfriend.

"One minute, twenty-three seconds," he said.

"Good. That means I only have to hide for another two minutes or so."

"Hide?"

"Yeah. My ex-boyfriend is my date tonight, and if I'm in there at the stroke of midnight, he's gonna want a snog."

"And you don't want one."

"Nope. And particularly not from him. He wants us to get back together, but that's never gonna happen. Snogging him would send him mixed signals, and that's the _last_ thing I want to do."

"Well, then it's a good thing you're out here with me." He grinned at her slightly crookedly, and for the third time that evening she felt a sense of familiarity, almost like déjà vu. His smile faded. "What is it?"

"I dunno… Do I know you? I feel like I know you somehow."

"Nah, I've just got one of those faces."

"Are you sure? Because I—"

"No. You've never met me," he said seriously. "If you had, you'd know."

It was an odd way of putting it, odd enough that she opened her mouth to ask him about it, but then she heard the sounds of hundreds of people counting down the last seconds of the year in unison.

"Four, three, two, one… Happy New Year!"

Jack leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Happy New Year, M—Rose."

"Happy New Year, Jack," she replied. "And… thanks. Thanks for listening."

"No thanks necessary," he said. He stood up and began to walk away, then turned around and grinned. "Just find him again." He gave her a wink, then headed towards the door leading into the lobby.

She smiled to herself. "I'll do that."

She got up to follow him in, but he was gone.

She frowned, puzzled. It should have taken him longer to cross the courtyard, and even if he'd managed to do so, she hadn't heard the door open.

"Jack?"

With a whoosh, the door from the lobby began to open. The strains of _Auld Lang Syne_ filtered through the opening.

"Jack?" she said again. But it was Mickey who walked out the door.

"There you are! Been lookin' all over for you. You missed the countdown."

"Did you pass someone in the lobby as you were coming out?"

"Nope. There wasn't anyone in the lobby, and believe me, I looked."

"Why?"

He sighed heavily, sounding put upon. "Like I said, I was looking for you," he said slowly, as if talking to a child. She scowled at him.

He crossed the courtyard to join her by the bench. He frowned when he saw her up close. "Have you been crying again?"

"A little," she admitted.

"Are you all right now?"

She thought for a moment, searching her feelings. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I am."

~oOo~

Jack quickly made his way across the deserted street in front of the Vitex building and kept going. Once he was a quarter mile away, having turned down several streets and passing two tube stations, he darted into a blind alley so narrow that was virtually invisible from the street. Unless of course you knew it was there, which hardly anyone did. He grinned as he spotted what looked like a tiny blue shed at the far end of the alley. As he neared it, he removed the perception filter he'd been wearing from the moment he'd left Rose in the courtyard.

When he got to the TARDIS, he pulled a key out of his pocket and let himself in.

"Were you right?" the Doctor asked. "Was it you?"

Jack had been brought up on the stories of his parents' adventures, of traveling in the original TARDIS, of their separation, of their reunion and the metacrisis. And of the New Year's Eve, so long ago, when his mum had almost given up trying to find his dad. Over the years, after putting bits and pieces together, he'd begun to suspect that it wasn't coincidence that the person Rose had spoken to, the person who'd encouraged her not to give up, had had the same first name as he did. When he finally brought his suspicions to his father, the Doctor had immediately recognized the signs of a possible causality loop. One that if true, urgently needed to be completed. So with strict instructions not to talk to anyone but Rose, and armed with a perception filter to use if necessary, they'd traveled to the past to complete the loop.

"Yeah, Dad. It was me the whole time," he said proudly. Then an awful thought occurred to him. "Did I change anything?"

"No. At least I don't think so," Rose said as she walked into the console room. "You're both still here. And your sister. And Nan and Grandpa. That's the important thing. Anything else is incidental." His sister, Donna, had been left in their present, in order to limit the chances of accidentally creating a paradox. "Donna's still at the mansion with your Uncle Tony and your grandparents. Just got off the phone with them." At the worried look on his face, she continued. "Seriously. Nothing's changed."

"Although your room is smaller now, and all your video games are gone," said the Doctor.

His mum shot his dad a look, the one that said he was being rude, but she was biting her lips, trying not to laugh.

"Don't listen to him," she said to Jack. "Your room is exactly the same as you left it." She looked back at his dad. "Including all your video games," she said pointedly. She turned back to Jack. "Temporal grace. You know the TARDIS wouldn't let you lose anything of importance. Well, anything important to you, at any rate. I seriously question the role of Quantum Effect 12 in the history of the universe."

"Well, if you look at it as a catalyst in Trypso-Canpory society to—" the Doctor began.

"Shut up," she said with a laugh. Then to Jack, "C'mere."

She crossed the room with open arms, and he automatically stepped into them, wrapping his arms around her. As they hugged each other, the Doctor joined them, wrapping his long arms around them both.

"When I think of how close I came to not having all of you, not having this life…" his dad said in a low voice.

His mum drew in a ragged breath. "Thank you so much, Jack. You're the reason I didn't give up."

"No thanks necessary," he told her, just as he'd told her younger self only minutes earlier. For him at any rate. For her it was decades ago.

His mother tightened her grip on him, burying her face in his neck. She sniffed. It sounded as if she was fighting off tears. A sound he only recognized from the time he'd spent with her in the Vitex courtyard. He'd never seen her cry until this evening. For as long as he could remember, his childhood had always been filled with happiness. And laughter. And love.

"I love you, sweetheart," Rose said.

"I love you too, Mum."


End file.
